Chapter 42
Ava
I looked up into the trees. Birds flitted around, chasing each other. A breeze ruffled the leaves. Despite learning what was wrong with me, that I’d lost my memory, I felt content and calm.
I had done the right thing. Ava said to avoid police and hospitals. I was glad I had left. She was right. I listened to myself and got away.
I’d already learned so much.
I was a photographer.
I could make an omelet.
I had someone who loved me and kept me safe. Tucker.
Where was he now? Where was my mother? How did she fit in? I ran my hands over the words on my arm. It was a tattoo. The warning was so important that I put it on my skin forever.
I could trust Maya, whoever she was. Wait, was she the one in the photograph? I flipped until I found it again, looking at myself, the woman, and the pots of flowers. It made sense that I would give myself photos of the good people.
And I could trust Big Harry. I pulled out the keychain. Another clue. It was coming together.
Old Ava told me to read. She warned me to pay attention.
I would try.
I paged through the book, my eyes pausing on random words.
Disco room.
Seizures.
Tucker.
Mother.
Fear.
Run away.
Home.
Shelter.
Big Harry.
There was so much here. I didn’t know how long it would take me to read. I skipped to the end, hoping there were instructions. Couldn’t I just go to the part where it told me what to do?
But the last page only said, “Time to watch the video.”
What video?
I pulled another one of the candy bars from the bag and unwrapped it, looking around before I started reading again. A woman walked a small dog through the grass. Her dog spotted me and trotted over until it reached the end of its leash.
I held my breath, but no panic came. I wasn’t afraid of dogs. And I sensed that someone with a dog would be safe.
The woman gave a small wave. I waved back. The dog ran in another direction to pee on a tree. This made me smile.
This was a good place. Old Ava would approve.
I flipped back to the beginning of the notebook and moved to the third page. Maybe somewhere it would tell me where to go to find Tucker or Maya or Harry.
This page had a drawing, crudely made. A man figure. A woman. And a child. There were trees and flowers, and the three figures held hands. Beneath were the words, “Mom. Ava. Dad.” There was a stamp in the corner, a circle with the words, “Good work!”
At the bottom, there was handwriting I recognized. It read, “2006. Age 6. It looks like you used to go to regular school. This is your only image of your father. There are no photos of him in the house. Mother didn’t allow it.”
No photos of my father when I was six? I had them now. Why wouldn’t Mother allow it?
I flipped the page to find out.
2006 - Age 16
I’ve been so lost. Time has disappeared.
Grandma Flowers has been watching me. I like to sit on her porch. I’m not allowed to go inside her half of the duplex. Mother says so. Only the porch.
Grandma Flowers told me she had some books I liked to read before I forgot everything. She got my favorite one so I could read it again.
But something strange happened.
I opened the cover, and there were three lines. They said.
Trust only this handwriting.
Find the book.
Remember your life.
Grandma Flowers and I looked at each other.
Her face pinched, and her mouth tightened. “Something’s not right.”
I flipped through the book and found words that were highlighted. The first was the word “available,” but only the AVA part was highlighted.
So, it was a note for me. I picked out each word and wrote it down.
Mother has hidden your life. Find the notes. They are everywhere. Get out. She is doing something to make you forget. Run. Go. Escape.
My heart hammered, and it was hard to breathe. I didn’t know what to do.
I asked her for any other books I read before I lost time. Grandma Flowers brought me a big stack. They all had highlighted parts. Some of them told me the locations of the notes I had hidden. I have paper flowers all over the wall of my bedroom, and each one hides a tiny note on the back side.
One told me to write on my belly the same words I saw inside the novel.
Trust only this handwriting.
Find the book.
Remember your life
Another told me I have a real dad.
Lots of them said not to trust Mother.
I have to run away.
2007 - Age 17
I’m going to the hospital.
My head snapped up. The hospital! I looked back the way I’d come, but I couldn’t see the building anymore. Maybe this would tell me what I needed to know! I clutched the book and continued reading.
Grandma Flowers asked a lot of questions, and now, Mother doesn’t let me see her.
Mother says in the hospital they will make a seizure happen on purpose, so they can study my brain and figure out how to help me.
I know I will lose my memory again. And Mother will be in the room.
I’ll have to hide the notes I’ve put together. But I’ll need them. No telling what she could do there. I don’t know what her plan is. She says it’s to help me, but my gut says no.
I’m scared.
I’m going to take my biggest textbook History of the World and tape these notes inside. I’ll have to break all my rules. Removing pages from my notebook. Carrying them with me. Rules that have kept me sane and let me know the things Mother wants to hide.
I won’t take everything. I’m not crazy. I’m making double and triple copies of things, writing it all out again and again, especially the warning.
I’ll make it through somehow.
Wish me luck.
The trees rustled, and I realized it was getting dark. The white page glowed in the dying light but was getting hard to read.
Alarm filled me. I couldn’t stay here. I needed light.
I peered through the trees. There was a glow near the street. And benches. I itched my legs. That would be better than the ground.
I gathered my things. Toothbrush bag. Chocolate bar. Empty Mountain Dew. Pill bottle. Notebook. Keys. Clothes.
The blanket was still on my lap. I lifted it to my nose again. I compared the smell to the other clothes. It was different. The clothes seem familiar. But the blanket didn’t. Why was that?
I had no idea. I put it all away and zipped the bag.
The light fell so fast by the time I started walking that I kept losing my footing on the rough terrain. But I aimed for the light and finally broke through the trees to the road.
I could sit on the sidewalk and read, but it felt so open, so dangerous. I wished I had a hood to pull up like some of the people who had walked by me earlier.
Instead, I kept my head down as I decided which way to go. Back toward the hospital or to someplace new?
The decision was easy. There was a covered bench ahead. It had a top and sides, creating a small shelter. I headed for it, planning to scrunch into the corner while I read. But when I reached it, another man was already there, drinking from a bottle wrapped in a paper bag.
I halted. Should I keep going? This place was so good.
The man spoke in a low, rumbling voice. “Nice night we’re having.”
He was the first person who’d ever talked directly to me. I didn’t know what to say back. Was this a nice night? It was dark and colder than the day.
He didn’t seem to mind that I hadn’t answered him. “The bus will be here in fifteen minutes.”
A bus. I could get around town on a bus. Get far away fast.
I smashed myself into the opposite corner of the bench and set my bag on my lap. I pulled the notebook out.
“You like to read?” he asked.
I opened my mouth. Instead of words, I coughed. My throat felt raw. Eventually, I managed to say, “Yes.” The sound was strange to my ears.
I hoped that by answering his question, I could get to the rest of the story, but he kept going. “My mama used to read to me. Did yours?”
I had no idea, but based on what I knew of her, I said, “I don’t think so.”
He grunted and took another swig. He seemed to be done talking, so I returned to my story. I needed to finish. Then I would know everything, and I could decide what to do.